A/N: Hello, everyone! How long has it been? Almost five years? God, time flies.

Well, I'd like to start with an apology, I've been very busy with personal life as you may have guessed. While I've not had time for writing fic, truthfully, I'm glad I've waited, and I think you will be, too. Writing this story has really helped me when I'm at specific points in my life. A lot has happened for me, and I feel I'm able to convey the narrative I want to tell much better as I've grown, both as a writer and person.

Before we go further, I'd just like to mention a couple small notes. Firstly, I've gone back and edited all previous chapters, just updated them to fit my current style a little more closely. While plot points are all the same, it might be worth another read-through, just for a refresher if nothing else. Secondly, I'd like to give a fair warning that while the events thus far have been of a heavy subject matter, things will only be getting darker from here. Please remember to read the warnings, and if at any point you need to stop reading, I fully understand. Take care of yourselves! Lastly, I have the next chapter already written, and I've started on the one after. I hope you look forward to it!

If you're still reading this, you have my thanks. I'm glad you've liked what I've done, and it brings me joy to share my creation with you. Thank you so much, kudos and comments are always very appreciated!

Chapter 8: Every Rose

"What's your name, young lady?"

A young, teenage girl stood politely with her hands before her, fingertips laced loosely at waist level. Despite adorning an extravagant, black-lace coord, upon her face was an awfully empty expression, hidden slightly by the long, blonde fringe that fell down the middle, and an eyepatch covering her left optic.

"Dolores, sir," said Rachel Gardner. "Dolores Haze."

Before her, a tall man in a well-tailored suit gave an almost satisfied smile. He had . "Dolores," he repeated gently, "it's a pleasure to have you with us, Dolores. May I call you 'Dolly'?"

"That's fine, sir," she replied, entirely monotone.

"What a polite girl you are," he replied, "and how old are you?"

"Thirteen," she answered simply. "Fourteen on the tenth of this month."

"My, that's just a few days away, isn't it? My head of staff tells me your parents passed away last year in a car accident. It's also the same accident that left you with your blindness, yes?" he prodded, to which "Dolly" gave a nod. "Tragic, truly, to be alone in the world at such a young age. I'm so sorry for your loss."

A slightly longer pause followed before her response. "Thank you, Mr. Faraday."

"For their sake," he hummed, putting his hand around her shoulder as he led her towards extravagant staircase leading to the mansion's second level, "I promise to make sure you feel at home here, even if it's simply as part of out maid crew. Of course, you'll be expected to maintain a professional level of work ethic, but you seem like a responsible child." As they'd reached the top of the stairs, he'd yet to remove his arm from her person, turning and walking her down the left hall. "You see, we're like family here. Many members of my staff were like yourself: looking for their place in the world, before I found them. Ah," he peeked up, recognizing the presence of another, "speaking of, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

An azure gaze, formerly set upon the deep maroon carpet rose to meet that of another young woman. She stood with perfect posture and was wearing a dark dress as well, had short black hair and pretty make up, couldn't be much older than Ray—maybe sixteen at max. "Dolly, meet Annabelle. Annabelle Valentine. She'll be your roommate."

"Hello," Rachel said politely. "Nice to meet you." After a moment, no response resounded, but simply, the girl gave a bow.

"She can't hear you, dear," explained Faraday. "Annabelle here is, well," he peeked over to her, "she's hearing-impaired, and unable to speak."

Only a moment passed as Ray canted her head to the side curiously. Raising her hands, Rachel held her palms together at an angle, then balling her fists into to palms with her pointer fingers extended upwards, finally pointing at her.

Nice to meet you.

Annabelle's calm gaze lit with a sort of interest. She returned the gesture just the same. Rachel spelled out her "name", S, then pointing at herself. "Why, you know how to sign, Dolly?" Faraday laughed. "What a smart girl you are."

"Thank you, sir."

Finally relenting, he removed his hands from the newcomer, therein turning his attention to put both palms upon the older girl's shoulders. Towering tall above the both of them, he looked down upon her. "Anne, dear," he said, her gaze upon his lips, reading them, "Dolly here is a new member of the maid staff. Make sure you're kind and accommodating to her, yes?" Annabelle nodded in reply. "Now, I'm sure she's had a long day, so why don't you show her to her new room?" Again, she nodded, taking a step in Ray's direction. As she did, however, Faraday had yet to let go. In fact, Ray couldn't help but notice his grip growing firmer on Anne's shoulder.

"Oh, and," he said, the older girl looking back up to him, "do come see me before bed. I'll be in my room." A long pause followed, and he mouthed something silent. While there was no audible sound to be heard, Annabelle seemed to have taken his meaning fully. A lagged nod followed, and finally, he let her go.

"You'll be up early, so do try to get a good night's rest, yes?" Again, he put a hand to Ray, this time on her lower back. She wasn't sure how she felt, but she avoided looking at him. "I'll see you girls in the morning."

The walk through the manner was a silent one, naturally, Anne only stopping to provide directions now and again. Foyer, restroom, etc. Finally, they came to a wooden door with intricate carvings about the frame. It was ornate, beautiful—but stepping inside, the room to which it led was nothing special. Truthfully, it reminded Rachel of her room at the mental ward. Small with two beds, few decorations, only a manual clock on a shared nightstand. There was a big window on the far wall, the night sky showing beyond the glass pane. A cute, black teddy bear was on one of the mattresses—presumably, that one was Annabelle's. Sure enough, she gestured politely to the other bed, and then to Ray. Gardner nodded, taking her meaning.

Anne turned to the closet, pulling out a sky blue, silken nightgown, therein handing it to her new roommate. Having also gathered the sheets for her, she made the bed while the other girl changed. When they'd both finished, Ray looked back to her. With her free hand, she tapped her fingertips up her chin, then holding her palm out towards the other girl.

Thank you.

Annabelle lowered her head politely, following with a pause as she didn't look away from the other. Ray gazed back curiously, when suddenly, Anne's wrist rose delicately, pointer finger extended towards the younger girls neck. It took a moment, but Rachel realized she was staring at her choker.

"This?" said Ray, placing her fingertips on the holy cross pendant. She supposed it may have been odd to wear something heavy like this to bed, but never really noticed. It'd bother her more to take it off. Reading her lips, Annabelle gave a nod, and seemed almost hesitant before signing back to her.

Pretty.

A small, performative smile spread across her lips, one that could never reach her eyes.

Thank you. It was a gift.

After a moment, Annabelle replied, Religious?

Rachel nodded. You?

Annabelle nodded in kind. Taking a step past the shorter girl, she walked to the nightstand and opened the drawer. A lone book was all that it housed, one Ray would have recognized anywhere: the Holy Bible. Taking it in hand, she held it out to her new roommate, who understood her meaning and accepted it. That's kind of you, she signed. Annabelle gave a warm smile, and Rachel wasn't expecting what she'd ask next.

Would you like to pray with me before bed?

Ray's expression lit very slightly with something akin to excitement. She bobbed a single nod. Anne exhaled an almost inaudible breath, gratified. Both girls knelt at their respective beds with fingertips laced together, hands pressed to their foreheads. In her mind, Ray recited the words she'd grown very fond of.

Dear God,

Please allow me to save others, and let me be saved. Through these acts of intended heroism, forgive my sins, and allow my soul to rest in peace.

"Amen," her prayer concluded, and as it did, Ray couldn't help but notice how heavy Anne's breath had become. She peeked over her shoulder to the unmoving girl's back. After a moment, the other rose to stand, therein turning to the door without another sentiment. Before she left in full, however, she peeked back to Rachel.

Goodnight.

Left on her own, the door closed with a creak. Looking back towards the spot where the other had been kneeling, Ray couldn't help but notice a single, dark droplet stained on the comforter, the size of a tear. Had Annabelle been crying?

Ray rose to sit on her new bed by the large window, then placing a hand atop the Bible she'd been lent, opening it up slowly to the bookmarked passage. Her vacant gaze felt aimless upon the page, fingertips following the words as she recited them inaudibly.

For I am convinced neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

—Romans 8:38 - 39

Suddenly, she was pulled from her daze by a near-silent click against the nearby window.

She peered over, wondering if she was imagining things when the same noise resounded again. She had seen this time that someone had thrown an acorn against the window pane. Leaning over, she pushed the glass ajar. Gazing to the ground below, sure enough, she recognized the bandaged face looking back. He must've seen her through the window. She waved down to him.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore-eyes," Zack huffed a laugh, showing a little smirk, pun fully intended. Ray shrugged, finally removing the faux eyepatch she adorned. "So, what's the verdict?"

Well, "I met the mansion owner," said the girl. "The one the rumors are about."

"And?" Zack replied impatiently.

"He likes to talk a lot."

"Y'know what I mean," he rolled his eyes, shifting to practice a swing of his scythe as if he were holding a baseball bat. "Can I gut the fucker or what?" In reply, Ray's lashes fluttered. She hated to let him down, but ultimately shook her head.

"Not yet."

Jameson Faraday, soul heir to the Faraday corporation and his family estate. While he may seem like a kind, proper young man, not much older than Zack himself, his legacy had been a point of contention. Not only has his family's business operated under a morally-grey umbrella, it's been said that he extorts his waitstaff, and was under suspicion for the disappearances of at least two young people: a ten year old boy, and a thirteen year old girl, but nothing was pinned on him. Both children's parents had been employees of Faradays, and died in an accidental fire at one of the plants a few years prior due to dangerous working conditions. There was a big lawsuit over the ordeal that Rachel vaguely remembered hearing talk of it on the news back then.

While Ray could discern her own suspicions, it was, of course, all conjecture until proven true.

"I start work tomorrow. I can't draw too much attention to myself, but I'll begin looking around for anything that might give us answers."

Isaac sighed. While he had already known what she was going to say, he couldn't help but feel oh-so inconvenienced by her weird little code of conduct like usual. "Whatever," he shook his head. "Just make it quick. Waitin' on you is boring as all hell."

"I'll try," she assured him, "you should try to keep a low profile for now, too."

"Don't worry about me," he replied, waving his hand to dismiss her concerns. "Just focus on doing what you need to do." Ray paused before giving a lone nod. For a long moment, the duo stared upon one another from the moderate distance, Zack up to her at the window, Ray down to him on the ground. They said nothing, because what else was there to say?

Goodnight, I'll miss you, see you again soon? As if.

Yet, an anxious feeling crept up the back of Zack's neck, and something heavy grew in the pit of Ray's chest, because they both realized it: this would be the first night they'd spent apart since reuniting.

"If you don't hear from me before then," said Rachel, "let's meet up at midnight—three days from now." If there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he could count thrice. "In the rose garden at the back of the estate. I'll try to find what I need before then, okay?"

The sun raising and setting three times was much farther ahead than Ray had planned for in years. She didn't want to be parted for so long, but she knew part of her pilgrimage was the responsibility of certainty. After a moment, Zack merely nodded, a casual "sure" being all he could say, then turning to walk off. He didn't get far before coming to a slow, peering beyond the scythe slung lazily over his shoulder.

"In the meantime, I won't be far," he knew she still had her switchblade, and she could handle herself, but still, "if anything happens, I'll know." With Ray nodding down to him affirmatively, his silhouette disappeared into the dark eveningscape.

By the time she'd gone to bed that night, and before she'd even awoken the next day, Annabelle had came and went from the room, the only sign that she'd been there at all was the Bible's placement from the nightstand to the center of the other girl's bed.

Rachel spent most of the day becoming acquainted with the estate and her duties. Laundry, cooking, cleaning, sewing here and there, watering the flowers—normal things most people found themselves concerned with, things she'd not forgotten how to do, but hadn't partaken in ritualistically for what felt like years.

Lady Charlotte, the lead of staff, had been the one training her; she was a moderately elder woman, older than her mother had been, and strict in her teachings. More than once she fussed at Ray for "spacing out", it was difficult to get anything substantial done in her honest goals with Miss Charlotte, but luckily, by the time evening had rolled around, Ray was assigned to help with dinner. Perhaps now her hunt could truly begin.

Pushing past the large, wooden doorway, she was met with the steamy atmosphere of the antique kitchen clouding her vision. Therein stood the familiar Annabelle, who looked rather tired, Ray noted, but maybe that was always how she looked. The younger girl waved to her tepidly, and Anne did the same, looking upon her curiously after.

I was told to come help you, explained Rachel. Something I should do?

Annabelle shook her head, indicating she was almost done. Ray looked down at the tray before her, some kind of soup and pasta with dainty garnishes. She nodded to gesture towards the spread. It smells nice. I'm sure it tastes good, too.

Anne smiled in reply; she was prettier when she smiled, Ray thought, darling and demure like a proper young lady.

You're kind, Dolores.

So are you, she took a step to stand at Anne's side. Do you like working here?

The other girl looked away, shrugging after a moment of hesitation. Better than a group home, she supposed. I heard a social worker at the orphanage across town was murdered last week by that escaped convict, the one that kidnapped that girl.

Ray only stared, unfazed.

Yeah, I heard that too.

Ray found herself gazing off into space, as if trying to remember a time when such things had scared her, too. Had there ever been one, actually? Maybe there was at least a time where she didn't welcome death like she did now, but never could she see herself fearful of Zack. After a moment, the younger girl felt a delicate hand on her shoulder. Gazing back to her company, Anne stared at her with concern.

Are you okay? she asked; Ray nodded. I didn't mean to frighten you. Rachel shook her head, dismissing the notion.

What about you? she asked in return. Scared?

Anne seemed almost surprised. Of that murderer? Ray nodded affirmatively, and a long moment passed before Anne replied. No, she signed. Rays brow knit together curiously. Slowly, her senior's fingertips met at chest level, and despite her answer, she still looked somehow apprehensive.

A moment somehow more silent than any other was shared between the two girls.

God will protect me.

Ray, suddenly, found herself at a loss, looking to the floor.

Dread remained on Anne's expression as she finally took the copper dinner tray in hand. Gently, Ray reached out, putting her hands atop Anne's to take hold of the sides. That's for Faraday, right? asked Ray. I'll take it to him.

A surprised look showed. Are you Certain?

"Yes," Ray said aloud, and Anne, reading her lips, exhaled an inaudible sigh—looking nothing less than overwhelmingly relieved. If not oddly so.

The two signed one another farewell until bed time, and while she was happy to relieve the other girl of the task, her true motives were founded much deeper in self-interest. Faraday was in his office, his personal study, a place few were allowed, and certainly never when he wasn't there. Ray had been told first thing by Lady Charlotte, that she was never to go in without supervision or invitation. This was the perfect chance.

Outside the large, wooden doors, Ray knocked tepidly. "Who is it?" called a far voice.

"Dolores, sir. Your dinner is ready," she said simply.

"Oh, Dolores! Come in, do come in," a voice called from beyond entrance; Ray made her way inside, standing upright before the familiar man. He sat behind a large, mahogany desk, smoking a fragrant cigar. "I was expecting Anne darling, but seeing you is just as pleasant a surprise." Ray took a few slow steps before placing the tray on the desk and bowing her head. "Thank you, dear."

Her vacant azure gaze roamed the study. The far end of the room was lined with books and financial ledgers on shelves. Extravagant art pieces hung on the walls, clearly no expense spared for the occupants comfort. "Tell me, Dolly, how was your first day? Are you adjusting well?"

"Yes sir," said the girl who had never "adjusted" well a day in her life.

"Nothing a tough girl like you can't handle, I'm sure," he said, unfolding his dinner napkin. "Making friends already?"

"I suppose."

He laughed. "Well, my Anne seems to like you. Shy, that one, so you must be something special."

Ray didn't know what to say. "I'm trying, sir."

"Well, you know what they say," Faraday uttered in reply, but Ray remained ignorant. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Maybe he should stay that way.

"Tell me, what sort of things do you do for fun, dear?"

Rachel hummed, unsure if there's anything she'd be able to call a true hobby of hers. "I like sewing," she said, so morbidly vague.

"Ah, I'll have to have you take a look at my favorite pair of slacks," he said humorously. "Tore a hole in them last month, playing tennis with my cousin, Harris," he rambled, and despite being a patient girl, she couldn't help wondering the point of this conversation. "What else?"

"I read when I have time." Mostly the Bible, of course.

"Ah, never been much of a reader myself," he noted to no one importance, standing turning to put out his cigar in a marble ashtray. Then, just like that, he looked back to her eagerly, stepping from behind his desk to the girl's side. "What about boys?"

Ray gazed back to him curiously, not understanding his meaning. "Boys, sir?"

"Yes, yes," he nodded, "a boy, a beau, a sweetheart. Do you have one?" he asked, certain to clarify his meaning. A boy, a beau, a sweetheart: a gentle, innocent affection, a pure, young love.

Ray stared simply, almost shocked to have been asked something like that. Faraday was wondering... if she had a boyfriend? At first, her mind fell upon Edward Mason, the boy who'd fallen so helplessly, deeply taken with her at first glance. As he'd noted, they were close in age, he was fond of her, and most importantly, they desired the same, ultimate fate, yes? Certain, Eddie was someone perfect for Rachel, right?

Well, "No, sir," she shook her head. "I don't."

A long pause followed, but he only smiled, all too kindly. "Almost hard to believe, a pretty young thing like yourself," he said. "Though I suppose I can't blame you. Teenage boys?" he sighed. "They can be so… very immature."

"The older ones can be, too."

"Hm? Did you say something, Dolly?"

"No, sir."

He hummed, about his monologue. "You're very," he gazed her up and down, and Ray couldn't help but feel his view lingering on her a little too long, "grown up for your age, aren't you?" As the string of long and odd questions seemed never ending, Ray wasn't sure what to say, and even if she did, she wasn't quick to respond to the question at all.

"I suppose," she answered mildly, and he studied her expression intently, as if trying to discern something he couldn't understand. She wasn't unused to people looking at her in such a way, and yet, this time, she couldn't help but feel less-than keen towards the fact. "It's getting late, sir," she finally decided, realizing there wasn't much of substance she'd get from talking to this long-winded man. She bowed her head. "If that's all, I'll be going."

A soft "right" fell from his lips, indicating he allowed as much. "Oh, but before you do," he stopped her as she turned to leave, holding out the same bowl she'd brought to him. "Would you mind bringing my soup back to the kitchen? It's a bit mild. Anne knows how I like it."

That's odd, thought Rachel, as Annabelle was the one who had prepared it in the first place. Regardless, she nodded, stepping forward and reaching out as he handed it to her.

Suddenly, the piece seemingly slipped from his fingertips, liquids pouring hot all over Ray's hand.

A sharp inhale resounded, perhaps more in surprise than anything else. Ray, startled, fell to her knees; she looked down, the burning sensation instantaneous upon her already reddening skin. Rachel, forever at her own pace, took a long moment to process what had just happened, but no sense of pain showed on her face. "Oh, dear!" said Faraday in the meantime, grabbing the dinner napkin and kneeling in front of her. "A clumsy one, aren't you?"

No, thought Rachel Gardner, the graceful strategist, the elegant murderer, her brow knitting together as it was very clearly Faraday who dropped it. He dabbed the cloth to her skin, slowly wrapping her hands up, to which she said nothing. Even as the pain meant little to her, his hands on hers felt too firm for first aid. It was hardly an inconvenience to Gardner, naturally, but to a normal person? She couldn't help but wonder if it's violated an unspoken space.

"Don't worry, Dolly dear," he finally said, an odd sort of smile on his face. Already, Ray didn't like where this was going, but nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

Raising her wrist delicately, he brought his hand towards his lips, placing upon her marred flesh an entirely unwelcome kiss.

"Run to the kitchen and have Charlotte fix you up, yes?" he brushed the blonde tuft from her face, and Ray resisted all urge to flinch away.

"Yes... yes sir," Ray answered, standing up quickly and turning towards the door. She pressed her burning flesh to the metallic handle, when suddenly he called out again.

"Dolly?"

Gardner stopped, perhaps reluctantly. "Yes?"

His voice warped to something dark, to something demanding. "The bowl, Dolly. I asked you, didn't I?" he said, "Don't be a bad girl now." A long, long pause followed, the child steadying her flaring hands, Ray peeked over her shoulder. To an untrained ear, one wouldn't have realized it—but Ray's flat tone fell to match his in disscontempt.

"Yes, sir."

The sun rose upon the next day, then lowered just the same. Again, the day after, it ran its course, setting that evening, and somehow, the days passed so fast yet slow; it felt rather like the time Ray had spent in the hospital.

Naturally, she did all she could, speaking moderately with the other waitstaff; for a girl with a supposed misunderstanding of empathy, she was very able to control conversation as if it were natural to someone like her. She asked about the two missing children, though no one seemed willing to speak upon the matter, and she was even allowed access to the manor's library in her limited free time, the computer, where she'd searched the surrounding situation on the web. In the end, though, there was little to be truly said.

Perhaps she'd gotten her hopes up for nothing.

Regardless, at ten to midnight on the third day, Ray lay awake in bed, staring up towards the dark ceiling in full silence. Peeking at the manual clock on the wall, she rose to sit, then slinging her legs over the bed, sliding her feet into the pair of black Mary Janes. Silent as a mouse, she turned towards the door.

As if it couldn't have gone any other way, she was stopped by the sound of a rustling bedspread.

Ray turned abruptly, looking over her shoulder, where Anne sat upright in her bed. She didn't look shocked or concerned, but maintained the same expression as typical—almost expectant.

Are you leaving? asked Annabelle.

Feeling a drop of sweat pooling on the side of her forehead, Ray didn't respond. To that extent, she may as well have, and Anne heard her wordlessly.

For good?

The younger girl looked off to the side, ultimately shrugging as Annabelle fell downcast. She wanted to say no, but, oh, part of her certainly felt like she'd be lying.

You can see, can't you?

Almost guiltily, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, Ray removed the eyepatch, optics perfect and symmetric as Doctor Danny always told her. Anne seemed unsurprised, but sad.

What's your real name?

Ray paused, feeling her identity wouldn't be in dangerous hands should she share it with this one person, but the logical, cold, sensible part of her took over. The other looked upon Rachel's skewed visage, as ultimately, the younger girl shook her head.

I'm sorry.

A sad smile showed upon Anne's expression, one that somehow resounded with an understanding that Ray wasn't sure she could comprehend, but wished dearly to.

A moment passed before Anne rose to her feet, taking the Bible from the bedside, holding it out to Ray with a smile. Slowly, the younger girl understood, and she took it it hand. She may not have known her name, yet somehow, Rachel realized, Annabelle Valentine may have understood her better than most.

Bye bye.

Heavy steps led Ray down a path lined with high, greenish hedges, illuminated by garden lamps, a scene somehow made even more beautiful at night. Unfortunately, the young girl's gaze was set only upon the ground at her feet, the world's beauty fleeting her as it so often had.

"Christ alive, make me wait all night, why don't ya?"

The familiar voice called out to her beyond the maze of bushes, perhaps the only thing that could pull her from her daze. Her morbid gaze fell upon his shaded visage, only a smirk showing within the dark. Admittedly, "I told you midnight," Ray replied.

Isaac only rolled his eyes. "What, you think I know how to read a clock?" he laughed, waltzing over to her casually. Ray said nothing in reply, and while she wasn't exactly always quick to humor him, he couldn't help but notice the downcast look on her face. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, and Ray said nothing. "Don't tell me you're comin' back empty handed?"

She supposed he was half-right in his assumption, at least. "I'm sorry," Ray said simply. Zack let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his hands through his fore-fringe, but the girl couldn't offer much else. The last thing she wanted was to waste more of his time. "I'm getting closer, but I would feel better if I keep searching." Surely, by the way he cursed under his breath, Zack was upset. If only somewhat, she felt similarly.

"Y'know, I don't like all this," he commented. Her staying in some rich fuck's big-ass house, pretending to be servant in a kinky little maid dress, straight outta a dirty porno mag. Sure, she thought she knew what she was doing, and hell, maybe she was right, but there were still four walls and a roof separating him and anything that might try to get to her first. "Why don't we, just… forget this guy, and find someone else?"

"I," intently, Ray's empty gaze fell upon the beautiful red and black roses about the foliage, bright and deep as the blood in her veins. There was a particularly beautiful onyx bloom before her. "I want to stay a little longer."

Okay, well: "How much longer?"

Ray paused, giving an eventual shrug. "I don't know." An exaggerated sigh resounded as Zack, clearly, wasn't so keen on the idea, but Ray pretended like she didn't hear him. With her gaze upon the bushel before her, she slowly rose her palm as if to take one.

"Hey," said Zack suddenly, the tone of his voice taking a dramatic shift as if he'd noticing something important, "what happened to you?"

Returning to reality, Ray looked back to him, recognizing his gaze set firmly upon the wraps covering her hand. She looked down as well, then back to him, quickly alerted to his meaning. Knowing she was in trouble, she shifted to hold her hands behind her back. "It's... it's nothi—"

"Bullshit."

Before she could find an excuse, Ray was cut off as Zack grabbed her arm where the bandaging ended, pulling it into view. He pushed back the gauze to reveal her skin, red and blistering and swollen from the scald. His expression grew intense, and he grit his teeth, but Ray only jerked her arm back and physically turned away from him. "It was an accident, it's nothing," Ray repeated calmly, rolling the wraps back up.

Oh, "Like hell it's nothing! His voice had risen as he shouted now, not buying the what she sold. Ray pivoted once again, her brow knitting together slightly as she held a finger to her lips to shush him.

"Quiet, you might—"

"Who gives a shit?!" he growled. "Did that slimy motherfuck do this to you?"

"Please, just—"

"Save it!" Zack spat. "If it wasn't him, tell me who, or I'm dragging your ass outta here and throwin' you in a ditch while I'm at it!" Ray groaned, because she knew he was ready and anxious to tear her asunder.

"It's not what you—"

A preemptive, audible grow resounded. "Fine," he let her go and slung his scythe over his shoulder, marching in the direction of the estate, "if you don't wanna tell me, I'll just cut up everyone I can fin—!"

"Do you remember what today is, Zack?"

Suddenly, Ray's voice rose a touch louder and more firm in tone, though calm as ever. Almost abruptly, it caused the older man to look back to Rachel from over his shoulder, an unspoken "what?!" heard loud and clear. As of midnight, "Do you remember what today is?" Ray asked again, and his only response was a look of confusion and frustration.

"Who gives a damn?" he fussed, still irate. With his reply, however, Rachel's expression fell, noticeably so. She knew she'd mentioned it to him at least once, but she was also unsurprised he'd not cared enough to commit it to memory. (Not that she was keeping score, but she knew July 24th by heart.)

"It's my birthday."

Her fourteenth birthday, to be exact.

Unsure of what he was expecting, his posture grew a touch less rigid with surprise. His angered expression may have fallen, but he didn't say anything else: Ray supposed she should just be happy she'd quelled him enough, yet somehow, there was something in her heart that felt a little sullen.

"Just one more day," said Gardner, for her, "That's all I'm asking. And if I don't have an answer by tomorrow night," her brow knit together, "we can leave, and I won't try to stop you from doing what you want," the girl concluded. It was a compromise she wanted nothing to do with, but one only fair. Zack felt his breath caught in his throat, because of course he wanted to deny her, but the rejection never came. Saying nothing yet, Zack's expression was enveloped by the shade of his hood. Ray, knowing him unhappy but reasonable enough, simply gave an exhale. Just twenty-four hours, for her own sake if no one else's.

Reaching out, her fingertips finally touched the stem of the flower she'd found, catching the point of a thorn. A crimson drop bubbled on her skin as she began to bleed slightly. Suddenly, a slight surprise overtook her as she felt someone behind her, reaching over her shoulder. Before she could pluck the delicate bloom, a palm found itself placed upon her wrist, a hand much larger and calloused than hers, stopping her from taking it away.

Zack pulled her back, the thin distance between them dissipating.

He dragged her lithe form towards him, back pressed firm to his chest, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other across her midsection. It was a touch that burned hotter than any scald or burn—any knife wound, or gunshot to the chest. An unaware onlooker may have mistaken his intentions for an embrace, but as he barred her with his scythe, she couldn't leave even if she wanted to.

How very incidentally, too, because that was the very last thing she would have ever wanted.

"The second things go south," she could feel his breath hot upon her skin as his voice was low and gravely in her ear, like a threat, a warning, an omen, "you come find me. Got it?" His grip grew tighter upon her, as if to prove his point. "You come find me, Ray." They remained there for a long moment, and between them was an almost nostalgic feeling.

They said nothing, because what else was there to say?

Zack finally relented, releasing her with a gentle shove. Ray stumbled on her lonesome, half-assuming she was supposed to flee. As she looked back, however, she found herself renewed in loneliness, as he had seemingly disappeared into the darkness, or perhaps he'd never been there at all. Ray looked down to the drying, reddish stain on her pointer finger.

Three, two, one more day.

Ray wasted no more time with her hunt. She went about to pass herself off as a maid yet, should anyone engage her, but with the advantage of size and stealth, she began searching the many rooms of Faraday manor. The library, the lounge, the foyer, so on. Predictably, there was nothing, for Ray already had a feeling that she knew where there was anything to be found. Late that evening, Ray once again found herself outside Faraday's study.

The girl knelt to look upon the old-fashioned lock at eye level; she'd taken a screwdriver and a pick from the toolkit in the shed, and while lock-picking certainly wasn't what she'd call area of her expertise, she'd seen a video once on how, which was enough for now. A few minutes passed before a little little click resounded, and finally, it opened.

Upon entering, the smell of cigar smoke remained faint, even though there wasn't one lit. Rachel began by looking at the books on the wall, but quickly realized there wasn't anything of interest, only papers and documents for Faraday's business, then the file cabinet, also to no avail.

Beneath his desk, however, Ray's eye was drawn to a large, silver box: a safe. There was no keyhole, but rather a combination lock, and despite knowing it was likely useless without the code, she fiddled with tumbler, at least trying obvious numbers (000, famous birthdates, etc.) Unfortunately, things were never so lucky for her.

Looking through the drawers of his desk for any sign of the combination, she shuffled through the mess of folders and such. There were more documents, a few packs of expensive cigarettes, what looked like a smutty magazine with the words "school girls" in title, but ultimately nothing came of any of it. She sighed, her hopes getting slimmer and slimmer by the moment, when suddenly, she noticed something different poking out of the bottommost drawer. She knelt, pulling it out and taking it in hand.

Photos.

Photos of Annabelle, in uncomfortable, compromising positions, barely clothed and what looked to be a as young as a few years even below Rachel at her current age: a preteen her. Ray's ash-blonde brow knit together, and while she couldn't say she was surprised, an odd feeling stirred in the pit of her chest. Extorting his young maid for sexual gratification may have been a horrible thing for Faraday to do, she'd full agree…

But, even so, that wasn't enough to sentence him to death, right?

He was a danger, but not a fatal one. Even if he was violating her, she was still alive, and given how old the pictures looked, that suggest he wanted to keep her around? Maybe he was a bad person, but was he a murderer?

Ray started wondering if it was really best to just give up and leave, like Zack had said. With an exhale, Ray knelt, sliding the photos back in the drawer, coming to one, lone certainty: Annabelle must have had a very complicated life. But she supposed one might say the same for her.

"Why, hello, Dolly."

Instantly, the hair on the back of Ray's neck stood on end, and she froze in place, remaining on her knees. She didn't need to look to know whom the voice belonged to, she could smell the scent of those awful cigars he smoked, much more strongly now. Ray said nothing back fully alerted to the reality of the situation she found herself in. Vigilant, she peeked beneath the desk.

"Awfully late to be out and about, isn't it?" His tone was cheerful as ever, though somehow menacing at the same time. "And unsupervised, too! Now, now, you're not being a bad girl?" She could hear his steps creaking closer, and see his feet from where she was positioned, the shadow he cast long and dark against the moonlight pooling in upon the center rug. "Are you, Dolly?"

He grew closer.

"You know what happens to bad girls..."

Closer. Closer.

"Don't you, Dolly?"

She was well aware.

Instantly, Ray jutted put room beneath the desk, crawling fast to the other side and away from him. She heard something clamber behind her, but she didn't need to look back to know an attempt had just been made at her. Scrambling to her feet, she raced out the door, dashing down the long, unlit hallway. Faraday's footsteps trailed louder behind, quickly catching up to her with longer legs, and Ray's heart started beating loud in her chest as she sped through the corridors. The chase lasted for a minute or so, easily, given the mansions size, but eventually, Ray assumed herself in the clear as there wasn't the sound of pace besides her own.

She breathed sigh of relief, just a little too soon.

Turning the corner, in the blink of an eye, she was met face to face with Faraday, his gaze glowing with a lustful corruption.

He grabbed Rachel by the back of the neck and clamped his free hand over her mouth, expecting her to scream, as any normal girl would have. Ray Gardner, however, only stared with her cold gaze as she attempted to struggle away. If only in size, he overpowered her, dragging her into the nearest, empty bedroom. He shoved her against the wall and loomed over her. Ray already knew, should she have so desired, she could easily take control of the situation, but despite everything, she was at a loss without an answer to the main question in her mind.

Was he a killer?

"I had a feeling about you," he told her, true tone revealing itself now. Ray's brow knit together, because she could say the same. "You snuck out last night, yes yes? Met up someone in the garden." He held Ray's chin, tilting her head up and lightly pursing her lips with a squeeze. She narrowed her eyes, knowing fully, completely, entirely well that it would've been best to leave it at that, or better, say nothing at all, she couldn't help but remember how he'd wanted so much to chat the other night, and Dolores Haze had her good reputation to uphold.

"I did," she said simply, pointedly, and for good measure, "a boy."

After a moment, Faraday laughed beneath his breath. "Bad girl, Dolly. What'd I tell you about boys?"

Funny. She never recalled asking in the first place.

"They're all the same," he said, "only out for one thing." His hand slid upon the side of her torso, but Ray didn't so much as flinch. "So, why not give poor ol' Mr. Faraday a shot? You could have it all." His words rang out with a sort of sinister meaning as he leaned closer, his lips almost to her skin, the side of her neck. "I could give you the good life, Doll."

Towards the sentiment, Ray's expression fell flat. She looked beyond his shoulder and into the deep, deep darkness, and on her face was a look of intensity, the likes of which a child should never have.

"But, you could never give me the perfect death."

Suddenly, Ray slipped out of his grasp like it were nothing at all, because the whole time, to her, that's exactly what it'd been. "Dolores!" Faraday cursed beneath his breath, taken aback by her agility, once more reaching out for her—when suddenly, he stopped.

Or rather, was made to.

The sound of shattering glass filled the air, alongside a pained shout; he collapsed to one knee before her. It took Ray a second to realize what happened as blood dripped from the back of his head, clear shards of vase fallen about the floor among petals and water.

Behind him stood Annabelle, wearing a nightgown and a intense look of adrenaline on her face. She said nothing, naturally, but she didn't need to, her intentions made so very loud and clear. The man grit his teeth, and if he wasn't angry before, he certainly was now. "You... you too?!" He grabbed Anne by the shoulders and handled her roughly; she gasped.

Ray lunged forward, her arms wrapping around the man from behind. She attempted to drag him off the other girl, but it was of little use as shoved Rachel back and grabbed Annabelle to cover her mouth like he'd done before with Ray, a pained look showing on her face. Reaching in her pocket, she took out her switchblade, but he reacted quickly, throwing his other arm her way, knocking the knife from her hands. An opportune moment followed, however, and Anne took full advantage of it. She bit down hard on the hand that held her.

Her gaze was angry and intense and fueled by something very personal.

Again, Faraday cried out. He didn't relent, shoving her against the wall by her head, once, twice, and she was out by the third. As quickly as it happened, Anne collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Ray could only stare, as if confused and unable to understand the altercation she just witnessed.

Just as quickly, he turned back to Rachel, his fist landing hard against her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Before she could do all else, he shoved her back upon the mattress, climbing atop her, sliding his leg to ride up between hers. He pinned both her hands down above her head and tore off her eyepatch, and through whatever pain she may have felt, she only looked up to him with something akin to a glare.

"You," said Ray slowly, "are you going to kill us like you killed those two children?"

He huffed a dark laugh. "And ruin all the fun? Come now, Dolores, do you really think I'd do something like that?" Ray opened her mouth to reply, but the second she did, she was cut short.

The man shoved his pointer and middle finger between her lips, gagging her.

"Think what you want, Dolly dear," he leaned down, speaking into her ear, "but I've never killed anyone." It took her a second to realize the moment, register the reality of what he'd said, and just as suddenly, Rachel's mind began running blank, as if trying to find an answer to a particularly difficult question.

He wasn't a killer.

Not only did that mean everything she'd done was for nothing, but also that the situation she found herself in just got a lot more complicated. Even beyond this moment, what was she supposed to do? Absent, perplexed, and at a loss for any kind of understanding, Gardner's lids fluttered shut, her dark eyes somehow growing deader. He wasn't a killer.

"Can't say the same."

Ray's eyes snapped open, a very different but familiar voice resounding in the otherwise silent room, livid, dark, and completely sinister. Instantly, she knew to whom it belonged.

"Wh—?" Faraday looked over his shoulder, furious and shocked—but just as quickly, that shock turned to horror. Instantly he went pale with terror like any sane person would be. He was met with the bandaged, leering face of the infamous Back Alley Murderer.

Just as quickly as Zack had announced his presence, an aggressive shout resounded from his throat upon raising his scythe. He reeled back, wasting no more time, and the blade landed a clean cut into Faraday's side, causing him to scream out in pain and terror, blood splattering across Rachel's person in the same beat. The force was enough to knock him off her, and onto the floor. The girl sputtered a cough, clenching her throat as she finally was able to breathe again. "Zack," she called our weakly, looking to him from the corner of her eye as she laid still upon the bed, lifeless and dazed. At the sound of her voice, his gaze turned on her, and as it did, she was almost shocked with what she saw.

He wore no sense of joy, nor amusement, nor wild insanity, the kind of look he always had when he killed someone. Instead, he glared at Rachel with a dark rage.

Oh, dear.

His attention flipped back to the man writhing on the floor. No pomp and circumstance, counting this time, not even the sound of laughter. Reeling his scythe behind his head, it fell upon the mangled mess of a man with another shout, shattering his skull. Zack grunted and grit his teeth, doing the exact same thing again. Then again. And again. Repeatedly, he plunged the sharp edge into the corpse, even after he was long dead, vision red with bloodlust and mercilessness in an attack so intense, it even surprised Ray. The walls and floor and furniture were all painted a dark maroon that reeked of a copperish scent, and before long, it hardly looked like a body anymore.

Slowly, he began to fall from his adrenaline rush, hands growing slack on his weapon with the point still stuck in the man's mattered flesh. He panted heavily, out of breath and energy, slouching forward slightly, sweat accumulating on the back of his neck and top of his head where the bandages ended. Ray wanted to call out to him, but she knew better, simply waiting for him to speak. When he finally found his voice, and his tone was low and intense and gravely.

"The hell were you thinking?"

Ray paused. "I—"

Snapping to look upon her again, he finally acknowledged her with sincerity, shouting in her face. "Did I or did I not fuckin' tell you to come get me before shit hit the fan?!" Despite his outburst, Ray remained emotionless, maybe even more-so, and Zack could almost pinpoint the second she'd checked out from the conversation.

"He said he hasn't killed anyone," and in her mind, if there wasn't reason to kill him, it wasn't something Zack need concern himself with, as disappointing as it may have been.

He couldn't tell if she was being honest or just stupid—maybe a little of column A, a little of column B. Zack huffed a humorless, angered laugh. "Well, it sure as shit looked like he was about to kill you!"

Ray shrugged. "He said he wouldn't."

"Geezus fucking Christ," Zack moaned, clearly more than a little frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose, dragging a hand down his face. "Sick fuck had himself halfway down your throat, dipshit!"

Believe her, she was well-aware. "That doesn't mean he was going to kill me."

Suddenly, he grabbed the girl by the collar of her dress pulled her nearer. It almost hurt, though it was only from the lasting force of Faraday's fist, but she considered that the least of her problems right now. Zack stared down, looking her in the eye intently, and gazing back, she could see now just how deep his rage went. She felt a bit confused, because sure, she hadn't listened to him, but she couldn't seem to understand just why he was so angry.

"No, Ray," Isaac said, "'cause what he wanted to do was even worse."

Roughly, he let her go, shoving her slightly, just to let her know how pissed he was. Ray looked down at the floor, unable to say any sincere response. He let out a "tch", disappointed and unsurprised. For a long, intense moment, they only stood in front of one another, saying nothing else.

Because what more was there to say?

He wasn't sure why he had thought this could have gone any differently, he already knew better than to wait on a change in weather. With his expression remaining firmly unchanging, Zack shifted, reaching in his pocket. The girl looked up with a curious expression as he took a mysterious item in hand. Recognizing it, her heart skipped a beat, but on the contrary, he didn't seem at all happy, joyful, or even content to have it. In fact, if she didn't know any better, it may have even looked like he absolutely hated it.

A lone, black rose.

Just like the one that she pricked her finger upon last night, it was deep and stunning and wilting slightly at the velvet edges. Ray's hand twitched at her side, entranced by is beauty, heart welling with an unfamiliar feeling. Before she could reach out and take it, however, Zack certainly wasn't about to let her.

He threw it to the floor, crushing it roughly beneath his boot with a twist of the heel.

"Happy fuckin' birthday."

Muttering his last few words, he once more took his scythe in hand as he turned towards the door, the unspoken expectation that she was to follow resounding loud and clear this time.

Before she did, however, she walked back towards Anne and knelt, her knees getting stained by the pooling blood as she looked upon the horrific scene. She gazed upon the girl's sleeping visage, unconscious and left on the ground, and if she, too, wasn't awash with bright crimson, her restful beauty would've made it seem like she were merely sleeping. Maybe God really was watching over her. Now if only Ray could say the same. After a long moment, she reached in her messenger bag, pulling out the same Bible she'd given her before. She peered on the inside hardcover, just to make sure it was still there, her name in black ink.

Rachel.

Setting it down gently, Ray put it on the floor near the other girl's head, then holding her hands in nighttime prayer, just as she'd done with Anne three nights before.

Dear God,

Please allow me to save others, and let me be saved. Through these acts of intended heroism, forgive my sins, and allow my soul to rest in peace.

"Amen." Gardner's lashes parted, eyes weak, tired, and empty as the air. Peering down, she looked at the black orchid, scattered petals covered in the stain of blood. Gathering what little was left, she took the remnants of crushed rose in hand.

Again, it pricked her.